


The Hazards of Close Quarters

by citrinesunset



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Crack, Gen, Light Angst, Medical, Quasi-mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter grows increasingly ill, and struggles to convince his fellow Guardians that he's all right. But when the origin of his illness is finally revealed, it takes everyone by surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hazards of Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing Guardians of the Galaxy, _this_ was my big fic idea that I couldn't get out of my head.

Peter would be the first to admit that stealth wasn't his strongest suit. Still, compared to Rocket and Drax, who seemed to actively seek out confrontation, Peter thought he was doing pretty well at avoiding unnecessary battles.

He'd been suppressing his cough all day, and it wasn't his fault he wasn't feeling great.

But from the deadly look Gamora gave him in the few seconds between the cough that escaped his throat and the guard discovering them in their hiding place, he knew he was going to get blamed for this job going awry.

As they ran from the pursuing thugs, Peter's throat and lungs burned. But the urge to cough was overcome by the need to keep moving.

Gamora, who was running beside him, still had the item in her bag. They'd been hired to steal a lock picking device. Actually, the device had been stolen by a criminal gang, and Peter and the others had been hired by the rightful owner to retrieve it. But as the tool was technically illegal by most galactic laws, the mission fell into the sort of gray area that seemed to be their specialty.

Peter and Gamora had broken into the thieves' lair easily, and if he hadn't coughed, they might not have been discovered. Of course, they could have been caught anyway, and Peter intended to point that out when Gamora inevitably blamed him for their difficulty.

Rocket and Groot were supposed to be on the _Milano_ , keeping the ship ready for a quick take-off. Drax was, hopefully, somewhere behind Peter and Gamora. He'd stayed outside as a look-out and reinforcement, but Peter didn't dare pause to look over his shoulder and see if Drax had managed to dispatch any of their pursuers.

"We should split up!" Gamora yelled, and before Peter could respond she veered sharply to the left, running into an alley. A couple thugs ran after her, but Peter trusted her to look after herself and their prize.

Right now, he had to worry about himself. He was struggling to breathe, now, and his legs felt like lead. Just staying in motion was a fight. The horrifying realization dawned on him that his legs might not carry him the rest of the way.

He decided it would be better to stop and fight than keep running and risk total exhaustion. He skidded to a halt and turned around. He grabbed his gun and aimed it at one of the thugs. He pulled the trigger, but the bolt missed its mark. Peter's vision dimmed and he gasped for breath.

One of the thugs came upon him, and Peter raised his arms to fight back. But suddenly, the thug was thrown to the side.

Peter blinked at Drax. He hadn't even seen him catch up. He wanted to thank him, but couldn't catch his breath to speak.

Drax turned to fight the two remaining thugs who'd been on Peter's heels. Peter started to move forward, intending to help, but instead collapsed onto the ground.

A minute later, Drax was towering over him.

"Are you injured?"

Peter, who was starting to get his breath back, forced himself to try to breathe normally. "No. I'm fine. Let's get out of here."

Drax held out a hand. Peter wanted to show that he was okay, but his heart was pounding and he was still out of breath. He reached out and accepted the offered hand, and Drax pulled him to his feet.

Gamora was already back at the ship when Peter and Drax returned.

"Next time you get sick," she told Peter, "I'll handle things on my own."

"I'm fine," Peter said.

Even as he said it, his throat tickled and he swallowed down a cough.

Gamora didn't stay mad at him long, however. Complications or not, they'd succeeded. And now was the time for celebration.

 

 

* * *

 

The thing about sharing his ship with four others was that there was very little privacy. No matter how hard he tried, Peter couldn't hide the fact that he was sick. He was sure the sound of his coughing carried through the entire ship.

As the days stretched on, he got more embarrassed over it. He simply didn't _get_ sick. He'd always had a strong immune system, even as a child. Now that he knew he was only half Terran, maybe that explained it. But also, he didn't spend enough time around other Terrans to pick up viruses. He wasn't immune to all the common afflictions in this part of the universe, but some things didn't seem to affect him.

There had to be an explanation for his cough and shortness of breath.

One day, he was in the cockpit, sitting in his seat. Drax was sitting nearby, sharpening one of his blades. The others were elsewhere. Groot hadn't regained his full size yet, but he'd been mobile for some time, now, and seemed to like walking around the ship to stretch his legs.

The cockpit was a mess, even by Peter's standards. He plucked one of the many short hairs that littered the area, and held it up.

Turning to Drax, he said, "This hair is everywhere. It's probably why I've been coughing so much."

Drax stopped sharpening his blade and turned his head toward Peter. With a furrowed brow, he asked, "How could that hair make you sick?"

"I think I'm getting an allergy to raccoons."

A panel by Peter's feet swung open, and Rocket's angry voice said, "What did you just call me?!"

Peter jumped out of his seat. He took a few steps back for safety, and then bent over to look inside the exposed panel. Rocket came crawling out of a mess of wires and metal parts.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" Peter asked. "I thought you were below deck." Something dawned on him, and his eyes widened. "Are you tunneling through the ship?"

Rocket stood on his hind legs and put his hands on his hips. "None of your business. So, you think I'm making you sick, is that it?"

"I didn't say that. I just pointed out that I only started coughing after you started shedding all over the place."

"I don't _shed_."

That was patently false, but Peter had no interest in fighting with Rocket. Rocket had sharp claws. And teeth.

Peter coughed into his fist and shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? No hard feelings."

Rocket narrowed his eyes as though he was considering that. Then he muttered, turned around, and disappeared back into the opening he'd come out of.

Peter wanted to tell him to stop whatever it was he was doing in there, but another coughing fit came on. He buried his face in his sleeve.

His chest and throat were starting to hurt from all the coughing. He wasn't getting better. If anything, he was getting worse.

With his arm across his face, he made his way to his bunk.

 

 

* * *

 

A few days later, while they were refueling the _Milano_ and restocking their food stores, Drax went off on his own and returned an hour later with a large bag of fresh herbs.

Later, when Peter was in his bunk listening to his Walkman, Drax appeared with a cup full of steaming liquid. Peter sat up and pulled his headphones off.

"This is a traditional remedy used by my people," Drax said. "If you drink it once a day, it will cure your cough."

"Wow, thanks." He accepted the cup and raised it to his lips. He took a careful sip, testing how hot it was.

At first, it was too hot for him to taste anything. Then, he was overwhelmed by the worst taste he'd ever experienced. He imagined it tasted like rotten seaweed. In a panic, he let it sit on his tongue as he wrestled with whether to spit it out or force it down, and the taste almost overpowered him. He finally managed to swallow, and a shudder coursed through his body.

"That's strong...."

"It is important that you drink all of it so that the herbs can help you."

"Right. I will do that."

He waited, and realized that Drax was not going to leave.

Peter steeled himself and took another sip.

 

 

* * *

 

Peter felt like he couldn't breathe. When he drew in breath, he rasped and wheezed.

Gamora watched with a concerned and puzzled look as he tried to catch his breath.

"You're not well," she said. "You shouldn't have come."

He waved his hand. "I'm fine. Go ahead. I'll catch up."

There was a brief flash of displeasure in her eyes. She'd expressed reservations before they left, and he knew that right now, part of her was wishing she'd brought any of the others instead of him.

Her reservations were exactly why Peter had insisted on coming, and he wasn't about to prove her right.

An old acquaintance of Gamora's had contacted her with an offer to sell weapons. She'd explained to them that her acquaintance would not meet with anyone but her, but that she could use someone to help transport the weapons back to the ship. It would have made more sense for Drax or Groot to go. When it came down to it, they were simply larger and stronger.

But Peter had wanted to prove that he could still manage. And he had managed fine on the way there. It was carrying a bag of proximity mines back to the ship that proved too much for him.

A month ago, he could have handled it with only a moderate amount of exertion.

Despite her displeasure, Gamora waited beside him as he caught his breath. People walked past them, not even giving Peter a second look.

"Okay," he said. "I'm fine now. Let's keep moving."

He wasn't fine, but he was breathing a little better.

When they returned to the ship, Peter sat down at the table and rested his head in his hands while Rocket rushed to examine the proximity mines.

"Here. I made this while you were gone."

Peter looked up to see Drax towering over him, holding another cup of the horrendous "remedy."

For all Peter knew, the drink was the reason he was getting worse. But he hadn't actually consumed more than a sip of the stuff in the past few days.

Peter took a couple pretend sips. As soon as Drax turned his back, Peter raised his eyebrows at Groot, who was standing nearby. Groot understood, and reached out a long arm. He dipped a finger into the liquid, and Peter watched as he sucked it up, absorbing it.

"I am Groot," he said, contentedly.

At least someone liked Drax's herbal medicine. Peter didn't know if Groot had a respiratory system that could benefit from the stuff, but as long as he liked it, he could have it all.

The others were crowded around the new weapons in a way that reminded Peter of Christmas mornings when he was a kid. He started to stand up, intending to join them.

As he moved, he felt a stabbing pain. He clutched at his chest and sucked in a painful breath.

"Peter? Are you all right?" It was Gamora.

For a second, Peter thought he was having a heart attack, and all he could think about was how ridiculous and humiliating that was. He wished Gamora didn't sound so damn concerned.

But the pain passed as quickly as it'd come, and his heart kept beating.

"I'm fine," he said. "Seriously, you can all stop worrying. I'm just tired. I'm going to go lie down for a bit."

He quickly turned away so he didn't have to see their faces.

 

 

* * *

 

Over the coming days, he spent more and more time in his bunk. It was like his strength was slowly seeping away.

He wheezed with every breath. When he moved, there were sharp pains in his chest and back, as though he had a knife lodged inside him.

The others began to suggest he see a doctor, which was a testament to how bad things were getting. Even Rocket, who had a special animosity for doctors and scientists, seemed to agree that Peter needed more than bed rest and Drax's concoctions.

Peter wasn't having it. Not yet. He hated doctors. He hated hospitals. Doctors hadn't been able to save his mom, and if something was wrong—really wrong—with him, he doubted they could help him.

And if it wasn't serious, he'd feel like an idiot making a big deal over it.

At night, when the others slept and he couldn’t distract himself by listening to their bickering, he wondered if there had been a moment when his mother knew she was dying. When had she known that something was really wrong with her?

Peter practically lived with his headphones on, now. There was little worse than lying in his bunk with nothing to do while the others piloted the ship without him, and his music helped distract him from his boredom and dark thoughts.

One day, he'd dozed off while listening to Blue Swede, only to be jolted awake when he was tossed from his bunk.

The ship tipped, and he had to grab onto the base of his bed to keep from sliding across the floor. He groaned when pain erupted in his chest.

After a moment, the ship righted itself. Peter pulled himself to his feet. He was shirtless and barefoot, but he didn't take the time to dress before walking as fast as he could toward the cockpit.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked. The exertion of hurrying to the cockpit made him cough and wheeze.

Everyone turned to look at him except for Rocket, who was in his seat and steering the ship.

Gamora got up and walked over to him. "You should be lying down."

"A little hard to do that with Rocket's flying."

"Hey!" Rocket said. "We hit an asteroid belt. I'm doing the best I can."

"Then let me help—" Peter tried to walk over to the controls, but started to cough. When he looked down at his hand, he saw specks of blood on his skin.

Looking up, he could tell that Gamora had seen it, too.

"Go back to bed," she said darkly. "Now."

Peter silently made his way back to his bunk, but made a beeline for the bathroom. He washed the drops of blood from his hands and chest.

He was getting worse, and he couldn't even pilot his own damn ship. He was depending on the others for everything, and no matter how much they'd proved their friendship and loyalty, he couldn't take being at their mercy.

But as he dragged himself back to bed, he knew there was no other choice.

 

 

* * *

 

Peter was lying in his bunk, trying unsuccessfully to sleep.

He was exhausted. He was still coughing, and the pain in his chest varied from a strange prickling to outright stabbing. It made it hard to rest.

He had his headphones on, but he sensed a presence. Opening his eyes, he saw Gamora and Drax looking down at him.

Pushing his headphones down around his neck, he said, "What is it?"

"Peter," Gamora said, "we're here to tell you that we've staged a mutiny. I've been elected the new captain of the _Milano_."

Peter jolted up, ignoring the pain that accompanied the movement. He fumbled to turn off his Walkman.

" _What?_

"She said we staged a mutiny," Drax said.

"Yeah, I know. I heard the first time. What, I'm sick for a couple weeks, and you just take over? Force me out? You guys are being real dicks right now, you know that?"

"We're not forcing you out," Gamora said calmly. "You've been in bed for days, and we can't take new jobs because you insist on trying to involve yourself even though you can barely move. You're getting worse, and refuse to do anything about it. Someone needs to take charge, and I've been elected three-to-one."

Peter supported himself on his elbows. "Well, you can't just have a mutiny! Wait, three-to-one? Who didn't vote for you?"

Gamora closed her eyes in exasperation. "Rocket voted for himself."

"I would have voted for myself," Drax said, "but I did not forget our purpose and our need for unification in this time of great need."

"Oh, there's a purpose! You wanna share?"

"When we land," Gamora said, "you're going to a doctor. If you don't agree, we'll carry you against your will."

"I will use whatever force necessary, short of death and dismemberment."

Peter swung his legs off the bed and sat up. Putting his palms up, he said, "Okay, first of all. If you want a sick person to go to the doctor, you don't threaten violence. Second, if I agree to this, will the mutiny end?"

Gamora gave him a small smile. "Of course."

Now he saw what was going on. He should have figured their idea of conflict resolution would involve a mutiny. At least it was a peaceful one, with an election. Lying back with a sigh, he said, "Fine, then."

 

 

* * *

 

They might have manipulated him into getting medical attention, but Peter didn't go to the hospital without conditions of his own. One, he would not allow either Drax or Groot to carry him. He might have been weak, but he could still walk. Two, he did not let any of them into the examination room with him.

The Xandar hospital was very nice, at least. The doctor who saw him, Dr. Phinn, was pleasant but young, and he hoped she had experience.

"And you say these symptoms started a few weeks ago?" she asked as she studied the full-body scan that'd been taken of him a few minutes earlier.

"Yeah. At first I just had a cough, and I'd get short of breath. Then I started wheezing and getting these pains. It kind of hurts to breathe now."

Dr. Phinn zeroed in on part of the scan, and her eyes widened. She tapped the screen a few times, and then put her hand over her mouth. It was hard to tell, but Peter thought her pink skin might have paled.

"Okay," she said. "This is odd."

"What is it?"

"It looks like you have a plant-based organism in your right lung."

"What? You mean, _growing?_ "

She turned to him and gave him an uneasy smile. "We'll have to do some more in-depth tests."

An hour later, Dr. Phinn was showing him a detailed image of his lung. The plant was contrasted in red.

"It looks like a tree," he said.

"It does appear to be some type of tree, yes. My guess is that you inhaled a seed somehow."

 _Groot_. This had to be connected to him.

"Hey," Peter said, "I have a friend who's, well, a tree. I've been living in close quarters with him for about six months, now. Do you think...?"

Dr. Phinn gave him a perplexed, amused look. She looked like she wanted to smile. "Well, if your friend produces seeds, I guess it's possible. Do you know what species your friend is?"

"Not offhand. Look, what's going to happen to me? This this thing going to take over my whole body?"

What if he was turning into some sort of Groot clone?

"If we can remove it, you should be fine. I think we should keep you here and operate as soon as possible."

Peter looked at the red outline on his scan, which was shaped ominously like a tiny Groot, and knew there was no other option.

"I have to say," Dr. Phinn said with a smile, "I've never come across something like this before. I'll be very interested to see exactly what they take out of you."

Great. All the doctors were probably going to be talking about the guy with a tree growing in his lung, now. If he wasn't in shock, he thought he'd be more offended.

 

 

* * *

 

"You know," Peter said softly, "there's a chance I won't survive this."

Gamora looked unaffected by his words. "That seems very unlikely," she said. "If your doctor seems confident."

"I think she finds this entertaining," Peter said woefully. "She keeps _smiling_."

Peter shifted in his bed. They'd put him in a room to wait for surgery, and Gamora had come in to sit with him.

"Look," he continued, "I'm just saying—if something does happen to me, could you let Rocket know I'm sorry I said I was allergic to him? And I don't want you guys fighting over my stuff. It's not important." He thought for a second and then added, "But I don't think Groot should get anything. This is his fault."

Gamora frowned reprovingly. "You shouldn't blame Groot. I don't think he planted his seed in you intentionally."

Peter groaned. "Stop. You're making it sound even worse. And I'm not saying I _blame_ him. I'm just saying he's responsible, and he shouldn't profit from my untimely demise. And Rocket—he should have warned us this was possible." Peter paused. "I can't think of any way to blame you or Drax."

Then again, he thought of the herbal medicine Drax had made him drink. Groot liked the stuff--what if the tree growing inside Peter had liked it, too? He might have to hold off on whether he blamed Drax.

"When I told Rocket what was wrong with you, he seemed as surprised as any of us. I'm not sure he knows much about Groot's reproductive cycle."

He wondered where the others were now. It was stupid, but he thought he'd like to see them. Even Groot. He couldn't be angry at Groot over this, no matter how much he might have wanted to be.

And he couldn't be angry about the mutiny. He knew it wasn't easy for any of them to show that they cared, and considering he might be dying from the small sapling growing inside him, he chose to take the gesture in the spirit in which he was pretty sure it was intended.

If he was feeling better, he would have been tempted to flirt. He didn't expect Gamora to fall for it, but in his current state, he didn't expect her to gravely injure him, either. It was a testament to how worn-out he was that flirting seemed utterly unappealing. The only thing he wanted was rest.

The bed they'd put him in was very nice. Nicer than his bunk on the _Milano_.

With a soft groan, he said, "I don't want to die from a baby tree....I didn't see myself going this way, you know?"

Gamora reached out tentatively and, as though the gesture was foreign for her, squeezed his arm.

 

 

* * *

 

Peter woke up slowly, and was numbly aware that he felt better than he had in a long time.

He could breathe, for one thing. It hurt a bit, but it was a dull ache, not the stabbing pain he'd been plagued with. He had oxygen cannulae in his nose and IV lines in his arms. Peter closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

When he awoke the second time, his head felt a bit clearer and he saw Drax sitting in a chair beside his bed.

"They do the surgery?" Peter asked. His voice came out slurred.

He had vague memories of doctors and technicians coming in to prep him for the operation, and Gamora leaving the room.

"Yes," Drax said. "I believe it was a success." He looked around the room. "I've never been in a hospital before. I've found this day most interesting and informative. I thought male Terrans were unable to bear young. Perhaps it's because you're only half Terran?"

Peter blinked. He still felt out of it from the anesthetic. "What? No, I wasn't _pregnant_. I inhaled a seed and it grew. Terrans call that a horrible parasitic infection."

"Hm. The small female doctor told us we needed to be examined in case we were also impregnated. I knew they would find nothing in me, because I wouldn't have inhaled Groot's seed. But I enjoyed seeing images of my internal organs."

"I wasn't _trying_ to inhale it, okay? I didn't even know Groot had seeds."

Drax's brow furrowed. "Where did you think the seeds came from?"

Peter blinked. "I don't remember any seeds."

"Groot produced seeds several weeks ago. It seemed unimportant, as there's no soil on the ship for them to grow in. I did not imagine you would inhale one and that your lung would prove a suitable breeding ground." Drax stood up. "I should go find the others, and tell them you're awake."

Peter watched as Drax walked away. He wanted to be annoyed. He still wanted to blame what happened on _someone_. But whatever drugs were coursing through his body right now made it hard to be mad.

Soon after Drax left, both a nurse and Dr. Phinn came in to see him. They confirmed that the operation was a success.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Phinn asked him.

"All right. Tired. Kinda sore."

"That's normal. You might have some pain when you breathe for up to a week, but it should be mild. You seem to be recovering well."

She checked his vitals before she and the nurse left him alone to rest. Peter was almost dozing back off when he heard footsteps.

Drax was back, with the whole team in tow.

"Hey," Peter said, sitting up, "they got the tree out. In a few days, I'll be good as new."

Gamora smiled. "I was confident you'd be okay."

Groot walked over to Peter's bedside and held out his arm. In his fist, he held a small bouquet of familiar-looking flowers.

"Oh, wow," Peter said as he took them. "You grew these for me? Thanks." He admired the flowers but kept them a safe distance from his face, just in case.

Groot lowered his head. "I...am Groot."

Peter reached out and patted Groot's arm. "Apology accepted. I'm sure it was an accident."

"Of course it was an accident," Rocket said. "You think Groot would want his offspring growing inside you?"

Peter craned his neck and saw the top of Rocket's head as he came closer.

"What's with the machines?" Rocket asked.

Peter looked to his side. He was hooked up to a few machines that were running noiselessly beside his bed.

"I think one of them is reading my vitals. One is pumping me full of painkillers and antibiotics."

"These could be useful."

Rocket started to inspect the one that was displaying Peter's vitals. He reached up with one hand and tapped the screen with his claw. Then he disappeared and Peter heard clattering noises.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

Rocket ignored him, but the machine started beeping. Very quickly, a nurse appeared.

"Oh, hey, man," Peter said. "Sorry. I think my friend might have pulled out a cord or something."

Rocket had backed away from the machines. The nurse glared at him, and then studied the other members of the team suspiciously. Then, he walked over to the beeping machine, crouched down, and fixed whatever Rocket had messed up.

As he stood up, the nurse looked pointedly at Rocket and said, "If there are any more problems, I'm calling security."

After the nurse left, Rocket scoffed.

"Yeah, like I'm worried about security. I think we can take on a couple security guards."

"Why would a hospital have security?" Drax asked. "Do the injured and sick pose that much of a threat?"

"Nobody is taking on any guards," Peter said. "Look, I'm glad you guys are here, and I don't want you to get kicked out. And Rocket, I don't want you accidentally killing me because you messed around with those machines. I just survived surgery."

"Fine," Rocket said, grumbling. "But I'm telling you, those machines would be good for parts. Give me a heads up when they let you out of here, and I'll sneak in and steal them."

"No. No stealing."

Peter hadn't exactly given up his outlaw ways, but now that he had the tentative support of the Nova Corps, he was a little more careful. These doctors had his name, and the last thing he wanted was to end up back in prison because his friend couldn't resist stealing from the hospital. He was sure he'd sully his clean record eventually, but it was going to be over something cooler than medical equipment.

What use did Rocket even have for them, anyway?

To distract him, Peter asked, "Did Groot say anything to you about how this seed thing might have happened?"

Rocket crossed his arms. "Groot and I aren't talking right now."

"What? Since when?"

"Since he decided to vote for Gamora as the new captain, that's when."

"You're being ridiculous," Gamora said. "I was always going to be the leader because the mutiny was my idea. The vote was mostly symbolic. We just wanted to show Peter we were serious."

Rocket pointed his thumb at himself and said, "I don't vote for anybody 'cept me!"

Gamora put her hands on her hips and glared at Rocket. "We didn't mutiny so you could become captain and make alterations to the ship."

That got Peter's attention. "Alterations? This doesn't have anything to do with why you've been rooting around inside the ship, does it?"

Before Rocket could answer that, or weasel his way out of the question, Dr. Phinn came in. The others grew quiet—maybe the threat of being expelled by security had actually gotten through to them.

"I thought you'd like to know," Dr. Phinn said, "that the tree we removed from your lung survived the surgery."

For a moment, everyone was silent. Peter blinked and said, "What?"

"We cleaned it up and got some soil for it, and it's alive. Would you like to see it?"

Peter looked around the room at his friends, who also appeared surprised. Finally, all he could think to say was, "Okay."

Peter had taken for granted that the operation would destroy the tree, and he wasn't exactly cut up over it. He didn't want the tree to suffer, but he couldn't let it continue growing in his lung even if he wanted to.

"By the way," he said to the others, "Drax said you guys had to get tested. How'd that turn out?"

Gamora looked up at him. "It appears none of us were affected."

"Really? None of you?"

Peter shouldn't have been so disappointed. It was a good thing that the others didn't have trees growing inside them. But dammit, he didn't want it to just be _him_.

A minute later, Dr. Phinn returned carrying a small pot, not unlike the one they'd planted Groot in after rescuing him months earlier. But the sapling was even smaller than Groot had been. Dr. Phinn brought the pot over for Peter to see, and he was amazed at how small and thin the thing really was. It was incredible to think that this... _twig_ was responsible for all his pain recently.

"It's...safe, right? No seeds?"

"No, it's not producing seeds yet."

Watching closely, Peter was just able to make out small movements. The sapling had two thin branches that looked like arms, and they were twitching. Yeah, this thing was definitely related to Groot.

Dr. Phinn placed it on the window sill, and the others crowded around to look at it. Their eyes brightened and a ridiculous smile spread across Gamora's face.

"It'll be just like when Groot was growing in his pot," she said.

Drax nodded. "Yes. Watching Groot grow was...enjoyable." Looking at Peter, he said, "Quill, you and Groot have produced fine offspring."

"Hey, that tree is not related to me. I have nothing to do with it."

Groot leaned over the sapling and grinned widely. He reached out with one finger and gently touched the little tree's head. "I am Groot!"

Rocket slapped him on the arm. "That's right, buddy! You're a dad! We're both dads!"

"What?!" Peter said, sitting up. "How are you the dad? It didn't grow in _your_ lung."

Rocket narrowed his eyes at Peter and put his hands on his hips. "Well, excuse me. I thought you didn't want anything to do with the baby. Besides, I did the most for Groot when he was little. I'd make an _excellent_ dad."

Great. It was "the baby" now. Peter watched, dejected, as his team fawned over the sapling. They were giving more attention to that damn tree than to him.

"Hey, look!" Rocket exclaimed. "It's grabbing my claw with its little arm!"

Peter craned his neck, but couldn't see anything. Drax's broad back was blocking his view.

"I bet that's the arm that kept poking me and giving me stabbing pains," Peter called out.

Since his team was ignoring him, Peter turned to Dr. Phinn, who was standing by the opposite wall. She had her hands folded in front of her and was smiling at the commotion over the baby tree.

"I'm feeling a lot better," Peter told her, "so I think I'll be getting ready to leave now."

It was time he showed his team that everything was back to normal.

"Oh, no," Dr. Phinn said. "I'm afraid that won't be happening today. We need to keep you in overnight for observation. If you don't get an infection and your lungs keep working properly, we should be able to discharge you tomorrow. But you'll need to have a follow-up appointment in a couple weeks."

Rocket turned around. "What about the tree? Can we take the tree home?"

She shrugged. "I don't see why not. It seems to be doing okay, and there's not a lot we can do for it here, anyway."

Now the tree was going to get to go home before he could.

After Dr. Phinn left, the others continued to gawk at the baby tree.

"This one's gonna be strong," Rocket said. "Any tree that can survive in Quill's lung is a fighter." He then had the nerve to glare at Peter, like it was _his_ fault that the seed had planted itself where it had.

"Hey," Peter said, "I know the baby tree is interesting, but I need someone to go find my stuff so I can get out of here. They put all my clothes in a storage room somewhere."

He'd left his Walkman in the care of Gamora, but he still didn't want to leave his clothes at the hospital. He _liked_ his jacket. Besides, there was no way he could sneak out wearing his hospital gown without attracting unwanted attention and flashing some stuff he'd rather keep covered. Why had they given him such a short gown, anyway?

Gamora put her hands on her hips. "Absolutely not. The doctor said you have to stay overnight."

"C'mon, look at me! I'm fine. And I hate hospitals."

" _No_." She glared at him, and he was reminded of the earlier mutiny.

Peter lay back and gave them a look that he hoped was suitably betrayed. He tried to stare them down, but none of them looked even close to yielding.

"Fine. Take the tree home. But you'd better be back here tomorrow to get me."

Rocket picked up the small pot and held it close to his chest. Groot and Drax followed him out into the hall.

Instead of following, Gamora walked over to his bed and placed her hand on his.

"We'll be back tomorrow. And I'm glad you're okay now."

Peter rested his head on his pillow as he watched her follow the others. His energy was running low, and though he hadn't been lying about hating hospitals, this really was the most comfortable bed he'd had in years. He supposed he could stand one night here.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the baby tree charming everyone.

 

 

* * *

 

True to Gamora's word, there was no sign of a mutiny when Peter returned to the _Milano_. Over the coming weeks, Peter tried his best to get things back to normal. He got back in the cockpit, he found them jobs, and he spent as much time out of his bunk as possible. He'd had his share of lying down.

The baby tree was quiet and low-maintenance, at least for now. Peter had been able to get by with ignoring it.

It was hard not to feel like a dick when the others spent so much time caring for it. But Peter wasn't ready to embrace the creature that had made his life hell for over a month.

One afternoon, he was in the cockpit when Rocket came running in.

"Hey, you've gotta come see the tree!"

Peter groaned. "I told you. I'm not that thing's dad."

"Just come on, will you? It's talking now!"

Peter was not completely heartless, or without curiosity. The ship was on autopilot and they weren't going to reach their destination for another hour, so he got up and followed Rocket.

The others were already crowded around the little tree, which had grown but was still small and confined to the pot. A small face was discernable now, and the baby was looking around avidly.

It opened its mouth, and a small, squeaky voice said, "Ooga chaka!"

Peter just gawked.

"I believe," Drax said, "that the tree developed an appreciation for your Terran music while it was gestating."

Could that be true? Had the tree been listening during those long days when Peter had been confined to his bunk?

Peter crouched down in front of the table and looked eye-to-eye at the tree. He had to admit that it was actually was kind of cute. It looked a lot like Groot had when he was small. No wonder the others were so enamored with it.

"Ooga chaka!"

"I am Groot!" Groot said with what sounded like pride.

Peter couldn't help but feel some pride, himself. He had, indirectly, had an influence on this creature's development.

"Maybe," Gamora said, "if we keep playing your music for it, it'll learn more vocabulary."

Peter couldn't help himself. He grinned. "You know, I gotta admit, that would be pretty awesome."  



End file.
